


Princess Arya and Ser Gendry

by Slytherin_Princess_Nysa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Endgame Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, F/M, Falling In Love, Fights, Fluff, Gendrya - Freeform, Independent Kingdoms of Westeros, Independent North (ASoIaF), Knights - Freeform, Love, POV Arya Stark, Princess Arya Stark, Robberys, Running Away, grrm has spoken - he said gendrya rights and endgame, just pretend they wouldn't all starve and die if they were independent, tourney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa/pseuds/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa
Summary: Princess Arya has run off every single man who has come to claim her hand in marriage. Her mother is driving herself spare. Her father finally steps in and makes a deal with her. A tourney for her hand, then at least her husband won’t be a pompous Lordling who can’t tell his sword from his leg.A tourney for the hand of a princess is a prize. Men of all classes come to Winterfell, to win her like she’s a bag of gold or a broodmare. Arya dreads to know who she will have to marry at the end. Until a certain blacksmith catches her eye.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Arya Stark & Robb Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Robb Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, mentioned:
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	Princess Arya and Ser Gendry

**Author's Note:**

> from my prompt account on tumblr (days-of-gendrya)
> 
> Arya refuses to marry anyone who is a stuck up highborn who wears pretty armour but can’t lift a sword. Her father agrees to hold a tournament in her honour if she marries the winner. Ser Gendry arrives in Winterfell for the tournament to win Princess Arya’s hand in marriage.

“Arya Stark!” Catelyn burst into her room and Arya dropped the book she had been reading on her stomach with an exhausted sigh. “You did it again!”

“Did what, mother?” Nymeria’s head rose from Arya’s legs and she whimpered as she scurried out of the room. _Little traitor_.

Catelyn glared, her hands stiffly at her hips and Arya sat up at the corner of her bed. She hated when her mother barged into her room like this, because it never ended well for her. She had burst in like this when Arya was three and ten, announcing that Arya was ready to be married. Every time when one of her siblings became betrothed, Arya would always hear an earful about how even her younger brothers were ahead of her in their duties. It had only gotten worse when Rickon’s engagement with Princess Shireen was arranged.

Catelyn looked down at her and Arya felt like a small child, “Run off another suitor! You’re never going to end up married at the rate you’re going!”

Taking a deep breath, Arya crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward with a smile at the corner of her lips. “Promise?”

“Arya!”

“Stop bringing me idiot, stuck up highborns and expecting me to play nice!” Arya shouted angrily. “I am not the wall ornament they treat me as! And I will _not_ be some delicate little wife who sits and carries fat, old lords’ babes until I die and they can remarry. Women are not property and we aren’t broodmares! We are important too!”

Catelyn rubbed at her temples, eyes closed tightly. “Arya, please. Enough of this. You are six and ten. You should have had a betrothal arranged when you were born, like Robb and Sansa, I told your father so. Instead he let you run around acting like a lowborn child all these years. And now look at you!” She waved her arm to gesture all of her and Arya shifted, uncomfortable. “Six and ten and still not so much as courted.”

Arya felt her face flush angrily and shot up. “I will not marry and give up my life just because you are embarrassed of me!”

“I’m thinking about your future!” Catelyn said, a vein popping on her forehead and Arya couldn’t find it in her to be entertained like she usually would be.

“Then why does it feel like you’re just trying to cart me off to be someone else's problem?!” she screamed.

“I am doing no such thing! Why can’t you see that I’m just trying to do the best for you. Gods know you never do.” Arya opened her mouth, gripping the book in her hand and trying very hard not to throw it.

Robb came running into the room and blanched at the sight of them, Nymeria poking her head behind his legs and Arya sighed. When Robb got involved it meant the fight was over and Arya could breathed. Her brother always had her back.

“Mum, father was asking for Arya in his solar.” Arya dropped the book on the bed more harshly than she meant to and slipped her shoes on. Moving past their mother without another word, Arya stopped by her brother’s side. Talking now would only make it worse anyway.

Robb wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled at their mother as Catelyn called after them, “Tell him I wish to speak to him after!”

As they walked, Arya dug her fingers into Nymeria’s fur and let Robb hug her to his side. Robb was married and his wife was pregnant with their first child. He was the apple of their mother’s eye and a part of Arya wanted to envy and hate him for it. But Robb loved and supported her, he would take care of her for the rest of her life if that’s what she wanted. It wasn’t his fault that she was never good enough for their mother.

“You know I love you.” he pulled them to a stop and she looked up at him. “And I want you to be happy, little wolf. I know you think you have everything you’ll ever need or want. I used to feel like that too. Then I married Dany and fell in love with her and now we’re expecting our first child,” he bent down slightly to look into her eyes. “I can’t imagine living without her.”

“Are you saying I’ll never truly be happy unless I marry and have children?” she said. “You sound like mother.”

“No,” he laughed. “I’m saying give it a chance. Give _someone_ a chance to see how amazing you are. I know how Sansa, Jeyne and Septa Mordane used to treat you- how little you think of yourself because of that. But you are so much better than you think.”

Selfconsciously, Arya touched her chin and cheek. They used to say her face looked like a horse. _Arya Horseface_. She didn’t like to think it still affected her years later, both Jeyne and Sansa were gone and Septa Mordane was easily avoided. But a gnawing voice had stayed in the back of her mind, reminding her that she wasn’t like her goodsisters or her mother. Wasn’t traditionally beautiful or voluptuous. That the only reason men came to try and marry her was because she was a princess and would rise their station in life.

“Father doesn’t really want to talk to me, does he?” she asked meekly. “It was just an excuse so you could tell me this.”

Robb grimaced, “He does. But I wanted to talk to you first because I have a feeling you aren’t going to come away happy from this meeting with father.” He nodded his head towards their fathers door.

“You think he is going to make me marry.”

“I do,” Arya moved towards the door but Robb stopped her with a soft press of his hand. “I will fight this with you, if that’s what you want. I know Dany will too.”

And she knew that they would. Robb always would.

“I know and I love you both for it.” she smiled at him tentatively, squeezing his hand. “But I need to fight my own battles.”

“You’re so stubborn,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Gods help the man you marry because he’ll never win an inch with you.”

“You’d better believe it, big brother.”

“I’ll be here when you come out.” he reassured her.

“I know you will be,” she said.

She patted Nymeria’s head as she passed her and Robb. The two of them waiting in the hall and Arya gave a little wave before disappearing inside their father’s solar.

Ned Stark was typically a very serious man, serious but fair. Arya could always count on her father to watch out for her best interests. She just hoped that whatever he decided about this, it would be something she could live with.

He was seated in the chair behind his desk, rifling through scrolls about trade and inventory - something she knew gave him a headache, less so since Sansa married Willas and the Reach started sending more than the bare minimum of food. The commonfolk had been happier and more lively when Arya went to visit. It lightened her heart to know that despite the lack of tradable resources and harsh conditions, the North hadn’t gone back to the desolate place it was before Aegon’s Conquest.

Although they were quite close to it.

Arya knew all her siblings were doing their duty to help the North and she suspected the kingdoms were preparing for a merging. Especially with Rickon’s betrothal to the princess of the Stormlands. She also knew Robb marrying Dany was political, a way to strengthen ties with the Targaryens. Same with Sansa and the Tyrells.

Arya wanted to do her duty too. But her heart wouldn’t let her. It made her feel guilty, like she was betraying the people she loved so much by not marrying for advantage. Whether it be political or for resources. Arya didn’t want to be fifty years old and miserable.

She deserved love and happiness as much as anyone else, didn’t she?

“What was wrong with this one, little wolf?” her father smiled at her kindly as he stood from his desk and Arya felt worse.

“By all accounts, nothing.” she said, sitting down. “He was kind and chivalrous and loyal to us. Compared to others, quite tolerant of me too.”

Ned rounded his desk, looking down at her fondly. “You could do worse than someone like Clay Cerwyn.” he tempted.

“But I could also do better. Father, I didn’t feel anything for him.” she pleaded. “And I don’t want to spend my life with someone who is just tolerant of me.”

“You have to marry someone, little wolf.” Arya always felt like a little girl when he used her childhood nickname. It was something he and Robb called her when they knew she was being stubborn and needed a soft push. “I want you to have as much power over your life as possible but I need to know that when I’m gone,” Arya reached out to grasp his hand. “You’ll be well taken care of and happy.”

“What do you want me to do, father?” she asked. “I don’t want to marry a useless lord.”

“Then we make sure he isn’t useless,” he leaned forward to plant a sweet kiss to the top of her head and Arya looked up at him curiously. “How would my wonderful daughter feel about a tourney in her honour? You marry the winner.”

It sounded fair. Tourney’s had rules, ways to weed out the type of people Arya wouldn’t want to spend the rest of her life with. The childish lords who spent more time eating sweets. The too timid, cowardly boys who were too scared to spar. The boys who thought showing off was more important than any actual skill. A way to separate the boys from the men, so to say.

Arya bit her lip and nodded. “On a few conditions.”

“Of course,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be my daughter if you didn’t have conditions.”

She sat up straight, steeling herself. “Any man above the age of six and ten can enter. No matter their station in life or circumstance of birth, their wealth or family name.”

“It sounds more than fair.”

“I want to marry a good man.” Although a tourney would ensure that, Arya would. “Not just a man with an important family name and gold in his coin purse.”

Ned reached out behind him and pulled a blank scroll out of the basket, handing it to her. He slid the quill and inkwell across the desk towards her. “Write the announcement and I’ll see to it that every King in Westeros receives it and distributes it throughout his kingdom.”

Arya lunged forward to hug him tightly, “Thank you! Do you think many suitors will come?” she asked, a hint of her insecurity shining through.

Ned tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know they will. How could they not?”

She smiled gently and tried to think positively for once. Arya had grown into her chin and cheekbones, no longer holding the sharp and harsh features she had had when she was a child. Her hair was smooth and a rich, dark brown instead of the untamable nest in her youth. She wasn’t the beauty of songs and poems but she wasn’t as unfortunate looking as Sansa and Jeyne had told her she was either.

Arya dipped the quill and began to write before stopping. “Thank you, truly. I know many fathers, especially in your position, would not give their children this much time or choice in their betrothals. ”

“I love you, Arya.” Ned said seriously. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“How could I?” she teased. “You’re always going to be here to remind me.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon writing the letter and checking over it to make sure it was up to both of their standards. Ned wanted to make sure the invitation would appeal to highborns and Arya made sure it was welcoming to anyone who wanted to fight for her hand. They decided the prize for second place should be one hundred gold pieces, it was fair. Arya didn’t like thinking of herself as a prize to be won but, as a highborn lady, too many people saw her as such already.

When they announced the tourney that night at dinner, her mother was thrilled. Not so much when she learned that any man could enter and possibly win. Her brothers had tentatively congratulated her and Dany slipped her hand into Arya’s underneath the dinner table, giving her a comforting squeeze as Catelyn began making plans for the welcoming banquet.

That night Arya tossed and turned in her bed, restlessly wondering who would be sleeping beside her in three month’s time.

* * *

It was easy for her to stomach the coming tourney for the first month. But as more time passed and the tourney drew closer, Arya became more nervous.

Her father had sent out the invitations and the news had spread throughout every kingdom. Her mother was already planning the tourney - the food that would be served at the banquet, she ordered Dornish wine for the celebratory betrothal feast after the tourney and decided exactly where the encampment beside Winterfell would be. Arya wouldn’t be surprised if her mother already had her wedding dress ready.

Her brothers and Dany tried to distract her as the days passed. Robb would spar with her in the mornings, both of them coming away sweaty and bruised but grinning widely. Rickon would go horse riding with her around Wintertown most days and Bran would read with her in the library until the sun set. She and Dany would walk around the Winterfell grounds and Arya would help her goodsister in any way she needed. From choosing names for the babe to new policies she would enact when she was queen.

Dinner was usually a nice affair. Unless Catelyn needed help making decisions about the tourney. Catelyn would drag the conversation all throughout the meal and Arya would pick at her plate until she could excuse herself.

She understood why her mother was excited. Arya knew her mother saw her as her most difficult child - not traditionally ladylike, interested more in swords than sewing, very social with both high and low borns alike and outspoken to a fault. Catelyn thought getting married would calm Arya down. Settle her with children to take care of and a castle to help run. And a Lord husband to control her wilder impulses.

If Arya had her way, that would never happen.

And if some man thought he could control her and treat her like property, he would find himself at the end of a very sharp knife.

She had told her brothers as much.

Over the weeks, knights and lords and commonfolk had started arriving to Winterfell and with every new arrival, Arya felt her future becoming more solid. One of these men would be her husband. A man she would kneel in front of the Old Gods with and swear to honour and appreciate and trust in him, a man she would lay and have children with.

After a night of restless tossing and turning, Arya had found herself awake before dawn. She slipped on a comfortable pair of breeches and dark tunic she had stolen from Robb before leaving her chambers. Nymeria tried to follow her down the winding stairs towards the courtyard but Arya waved her towards the godswood.

Her palms were sweaty and her feet dragged against the muddied ground. Winterfell looked the same - guards patrolling the walls and gate, the heat of the forge kissing against her skin when she passed. The only difference was the extra bags of grain and meats being brought into the castle for the upcoming feast.

Arya glanced at a hanging sheet of steel outside the forge and studied her appearance to make sure she wouldn’t stick out in Wintertown. She didn’t look highborn. Messy braid tossed over her shoulder, bags under her eyes and well worn clothes. There was a chill in the air but Arya didn’t bother with a cloak.

The guards were playing a game on one side of the gate and Arya easily blended into the crowd carrying supplies into the castle. A man in Stark colours was stationed at the front of the gate, signing up each willing man who wanted to participate. Arya was shocked to see how long the list in front of him already was.

The town was alight with enthusiasm as the tournament drew nearer. She strolled through the little market place, dropping more than enough gold coins into the wooden bowl next to a vendor as she picked up a bundle of apples. Arya tried to imagine each man she bumped into in mismatched pieces of armour and rough sword in his hand.

Arya ventured towards the encampment besides Wintertown. Just as she entered, Arya noticed the commotion, over a dozen men shouting and crowding an open cart at the side of one of the tents. Arya was too short to see what was happening but her curiosity was peaked and she tried to get closer to see over the shoulders of the shorter men.

Someone shoved into her side and Arya felt her feet slipping off of the ground, the mud was too fresh for her boots to find traction. Her arms windmilled trying to find something to grab onto and she cried out. She felt the person lunge forward and her fingers dug into the fabric of his rough tunic. Without meaning to, she yanked and heard the unmistakable sound of it ripping. The man pulled her up before she could fall and Arya’s head whipped up, meeting the most wonderfully expressive blue eyes.

Arya blinked up at him, realizing how close they were standing as she drew away quickly. “I’m so sorry, ser.”

“No worries, my lady,” he looked down at the rip. Her hand had pulled the hem down and a long tear flowed down his chest. She chewed her lip nervously and hugged the apples to her chest. “I have other tunics.”

“I feel terrible, please let me pay for a new one.” she offered, hand already reaching out for the coin purse at her belt.

“No,” he rushed to stop her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and Arya watched his face flush and his hand dropped. “I apologize. It’s alright, truly. I can afford to buy another one. Where are you going with those?” he pointed at the apples.

“Oh!” she looked down at the bag self consciously, “It’s not for me.”

A smile tugged at his lips, “Who is it for then?”

Arya opened her mouth and snapped it shut, she didn’t know how to explain it exactly. “Would you like to come with me and find out?” she glanced behind him. “If you’re done here.”

**Author's Note:**

> also yes, some truths on Northern Independence shined through because the North has no way of surviving on its own - the show literally just said "lmao the north and everyone in it starves off screen but go ahead and think they live happily ever after' - because they have nothing to trade and no fertile grounds to grow food on. I give the show North a year, MAX before they're either annexed back in or they all starve to death.
> 
> Only thing keeping me sane on this is knowing GRRM isn't going to pull this independence bullshit because he doesn't plan on starving the whole region. Or making Sansa queen.


End file.
